Imagens da página
PDF
ePub

Object of my implacable disgust.

What! will a man play tricks, will he indulge
A silly, fond conceit of his fair form
And just proportion, fashionable mien,
And pretty face, in presence of his God?
Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes,
As with the diamond on his lily hand,
And play his brilliant parts before my eyes,
When I am hungry for the bread of life?
He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames
His noble office, and, instead of truth,
Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock.
Therefore avaunt all attitude, and stare,
And start theatric, practised at the glass!
I seek divine simplicity in him

Who handles things divine; and all besides,

Though learn'd with labour, and though much admired

By curious eyes and judgments ill-inform'd,

[blocks in formation]

My sweet wee nursling! thou art sweet to me
As sun to flowers, or honey to the bee-
Music in summer bowers-the freshening stream
To bright wings dipping from the sultry beam—
Hope to the mourner, to the weary rest—
To the young dreamer, visions of the blest!
Yes! thou'rt a charm!-a most mysterious spell!
Birds, bees, and flowers, can just as ably tell
Why sunshine, scent, and streams their pleasures be,
As thy young mother why she dotes on thee
With such unmeasured, fond intensity!
Breathing and crying are thy only speech-
But, oh! for me, what eloquence hath each!
Sounds of my first-born !-how my heart they thrill,
Like the sweet babblings of a hidden rill;
A well of future blessedness art thou!

My morning star, my crown of gladness now!

Mrs Richardson.

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,

The sound of a door that is open'd,
And voices soft and sweet

From my study I see in the lamplight,
Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper and then a silence;

Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall,
By three doors left unguarded,
They enter my castle wall.

They climb up into my turret,

O'er the arms and back of my chair; If I try to escape, they surround me: They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,

Their arms about me intwine, Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine.

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
Is not a match for you all?

I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you into the dungeon

In the round tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you for ever, Yes, for ever and a day,

Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, And moulder in dust away.

H. W. Longfellow.

82. AFFECTION. Sacrifices of

Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead,
Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine?
And would the sun for thee more coldly shine,
Because of grave-damps falling round my head?
I marvell'd, my Belovéd, when I read
Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine-
But... so much to thee? Can I pour thy wine
While my hands tremble? Then my soul, instead
Of dreams of death, resumes life's lower range.
Then, love me, Love! look on me. . . breathe on

me!

As brighter ladies do not count it strange,

For love, to give up acres and degree,

I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange

My near, sweet view of Heaven, for earth with thee! Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

83. AFFECTION. Sudden

THE first time that the sun rose on thine oath
To love me, I look'd forward to the moon

To slacken all those bonds which seem'd too soon
And quickly tied to make a lasting troth.

I did not wrong myself so, but I placed
A wrong on thee. For perfect strains may float

'Neath master-hands, from instruments defaced,And great souls, at one stroke, may do and dote. Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

84. AFFECTION. Tenacious

IN my boy's loud laughter ringing,
In the sigh more soft than singing

Of my baby-girl that nestles up into this mortal breast,

And every voice most dear

Comes a whisper-' Rest not here.'

And the rest Thou art preparing, is it best, Lord, is it best?

'Lord, a little, little longer!'

Sobs the earth-love, growing stronger:

He will miss me, and go mourning through his solitary days.

And heaven were scarcely heaven

If these lambs which Thou hast given

Were to slip out of our keeping and be lost in the world's ways.

Lord, it is not fear of dying,

Nor an impious denying

Of Thy will, which for evermore on earth, in heaven, be done:

But the love that desperate clings

Unto these my precious things

In the beauty of the daylight, and the glory of the

sun.

Ah, Thou still art calling, calling,

With a soft voice unappalling;

And it vibrates in far circles through the everlasting

years;

When Thou knockest, even so!

I will arise and go.-D. M. Muloch Craik.

85. AFFECTIONS. Strong

WHAT war so cruel, or what siege so sore,
As that which strong affections do apply
Against the fort of reason, evermore
To bring the soul into captivity!—Spenser.

86. AFFLICTION. Comfort in

Quick-loving hearts, I thought, may quickly loathe; 'Blessed are they that

And looking on myself, I seem'd not one
For such man's love!-more like an out of tune

Worn viol, a good singer would be wroth

mourn, for they shall find Comfort and joy!' Though flesh and blood rebel 'Gainst heavenward thoughts, and the vex'd spirit swell

To spoil his song with, and which, snatch'd in haste, With anxious tossings, still, the veil behind

Is laid down at the first ill-sounding note.

Of earth-born mists, the faith-directed mind

Sees throned in cloudless light the Invisible,
At whose right hand delights in fulness dwell,
And bliss for ever lasting. Be resign'd,
Thou child of sorrow, to His sovereign will;
Drink, as He bids, the bitter cup, and bear
Thy cross in patience! From the holy hill

A gleam shall cheer thee, till, safe-harbour'd there, Thou feel how faintly earth's severest ill

May with the weight of heavenly joys compare! Mant.

87. AFFLICTION. Compensation for

DEEM not that they are blest alone
Whose days a peaceful tenor keep,
The Anointed Son of God makes known
A blessing for the eyes that weep.
The light of smiles shall fill again

The lids that overflow with tears,

And weary hours of woe and pain

Are promises of happier years.

Oh, there are days of sunny rest

For every dark and troubled night,
And Grief may bide an evening guest,
But Joy shall come with early light.

And thou, who, o'er thy friend's low bier,
Dost shed the bitter drops like rain,
Hope that a brighter, happier sphere
Will give him to thy arms again.

Nor let the good man's trust depart,

Though life its common gifts deny; Though with a pierced and bleeding heart, And spurn'd of men, he goes to die.

For God hath mark'd each sorrowing day,
And number'd every secret tear,
And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay
For all His children suffer here.—Bryant.

Now let us thank th' Eternal Power; convinced That Heaven but tries our virtue by affliction : That oft the cloud which wraps the present hour, Serves but to brighten all our future days.

Brown.

88. AFFLICTION : develops excellencies.

WITHIN this leaf, to every eye
So little worth, doth hidden lie
Most rare and subtle fragrancy.

Wouldst thou its secret strength unbind?
Crush it, and thou shalt perfume find
Sweet as Arabia's spicy wind.

In this dull stone, so poor, and bare
Of shape or lustre, patient care
Will find for thee a jewel rare ;

But first must skilful hands essay
With file and flint to clear away

The film which hides its fire from day.

This leaf? this stone? It is thy heart :
It must be crush'd by pain and smart,
It must be cleansed by sorrow's art,
Ere it will yield a fragrance sweet,
Ere it will shine, a jewel meet
To lay before thy dear Lord's feet.
Wilberforce.

[blocks in formation]

He takes my soften'd heart and beats it-
The sparks fly off at every blow;
He turns it o'er and o'er, and heats it,

And lets it cool, and makes it glow;
And yet I whisper, As God will!'
And in His mighty hand hold still.

Why should I murmur? for the sorrow
Thus only longer-lived would be;
Its end may come, and will to-morrow,
When God has done His work in me;
So I say, trusting, 'As God will!'
And, trusting, to the end hold still.

He kindles for my profit purely

Affliction's glowing, fiery brand;
And all His heaviest blows are surely
Inflicted by a Master-hand;

So I say, praying, 'As God will ! '
And hope in Him and suffer still.-Sturm.

90. AFFLICTION. Eucharist of

ABOVE the seas of gold and glass
The Christ, transfigured, stands to-day;
Below, in troubled currents, pass

The tidal fates of man away.
Through that environ'd blessedness
Our sorrow cannot wholly rise,
Nor his swift sympathy redress

The anguish that in Nature lies.

Yet mindful from His banquet sends
The guest of God a cup of wine,

And shares a morsel with His friends,

Who, wondering, wait without the shrine. Julia Ward Howe.

91. AFFLICTION. Furnace of

HE that from dross would win the precious ore,
Bends o'er the crucible an earnest eye,
The subtle, searching process to explore,

Lest the one brilliant moment should pass by,
When in the molten silver's virgin mass
He meets his pictured face as in a glass.

Thus in God's furnace are His children tried;
Thrice happy they who to the end endure !
But who the fiery trial may abide?

Who from the crucible come forth so pure,

That He, whose eyes of flame look through the whole,

May see His image perfect in the soul?

Not with an evanescent glimpse alone,

As in that mirror the refiner's face,

But, stampt with heaven's broad signet, there be shown

Immanuel's features, full of truth and grace,And round that seal of love this motto be, 'Not for a moment, but eternity!'

James Montgomery.

92. AFFLICTION: God's messenger.
COUNT each affliction, whether light or grave,
God's messenger sent down to thee. Do thou
With courtesy receive him: rise and bow;
And, ere his shadow pass thy threshold, crave
Permission first his heavenly feet to lave,
Then lay before him all thou hast. Allow
No cloud of passion to usurp thy brow,
Or mar thy hospitality, no wave

Of mortal tumult to obliterate

Thy soul's marmoreal calmness. Grief should be
Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate,
Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free,

Strong to consume small troubles; to commend Great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts lasting to the end.-Aubrey De Vere.

93. AFFLICTION. Heroism under

LIKE a ball that bounds

According to the force with which 'twas thrown,
So in affliction's violence, he that's wise,
The more he's cast down, will the higher rise.
Nabb.

Afflictions may press me, they cannot destroy,
One glimpse of Thy love turns them all into joy;
And the bitterest tears, if Thou smile but on them,
Like dew in the sunshine, grow diamond and gem.
Let doubt, then, and danger my progress oppose,
They only make heaven more sweet at the close;
Come joy or come sorrow, whate'er may befall,
An hour with my God will make up for it all.
A scrip on my back, and a staff in my hand,
I march on in haste through an enemy's land;
The road may be rough, but it cannot be long,
And I'll smooth it with hope, and cheer it with song.
Lyte.

94. AFFLICTION: its results.

THE more the cross, the nearer heaven ;Where is no cross there God is not;

The world's turmoil doth hide His face,
Hell, sense, and self, make Him forgot.
Oh! where God draws a blessed lot,
His mercy some dark lines doth trace.

The more the cross, the better Christian ;-
God lays the touchstone to each soul;
How many a garden must lie waste
Did not a tear-storm o'er it roll!
Refining grief, a living coal,
Upon the Christian's heart is placed.

The more the cross, the more believing ;-
In desert lands the palm trees grow;
And when the grape is strongly press'd,
Then doth its sweetness overflow;
And strength lies hid in every woe,
As pearls do in the salt wave rest.

The more the cross, the more the praying ;-
The bruised plant yields sweetest balm ;
Man doth not seek to find the pole

In quiet seas and steady calms;

And how should we have David's psalms

Had he not had a troubled soul?

The more the cross, the more the longing ;Out of the vale man upward goes;

[blocks in formation]
« AnteriorContinuar »